Forest

Marin County, California

February 22

The rock was annoyed.

Aren arched a finely sculpted brow and watched as the rock rolled across the forest floor, upturning leaves and dirt in its wake, and he shook his head. As a species, Little Blue Rocks could be less than helpful.

They had left the crash site for the shelter of the forest. The night lay heavy in the canopy, the air alive with the scents of crisp frost and decaying foliage. Standing inside a circle of needle-leafed trees, his physical body draped over his ethereal shoulder, Aren drew in a deep breath and let the moist air saturate his non-existent lungs. Though the feeling was impossible, the idea was glorious. All the while, the rock continued its endless burble of mind-numbing twaddle.

"I understand your concerns," Aren told it. "But my body is too conspicuous and cumbersome to carry around while we search for my child. Hidden up in the trees, it should be quite safe."

The rock kicked up more torrents of leaves and dirt in protest. Aren ignored it, preoccupied with the strange feel of his body growing damp beneath its whisper-thin force shield. Whatever process was in play, it could be nothing good. He was never that fortunate. Leaving his body in the chill of the canopy might delay whatever negative processes had begun. What did the humans say?

Keep your fingers crossed.

He located a sturdy-looking tree and with his body over one shoulder and the rock perched on the other, he started to climb. Midway up, he found a nest of sturdy branches and laid his body across them. The rock, still on his shoulder, continued to complain.

"The force shield will ensure my body is protected," he told it.

The rock scrunched.

"I do not believe a bear could climb this high. Nor would the tree support its weight."

The rock scrunched again.

"Lascivious mountain men?" Aren rubbed his forehead. "I am sure someone instructed you not to watch their media. It will destroy your mind."

The rock sniffed its indifference, jumped from his shoulder, and spiraled down the tree trunk, complaining all the way. Aren could not decide which was more annoying, the rock or the tree with its sharp branches that pricked his bare everything. What he would not do for a pair of boots. And pants.

He rubbed his forehead and thought about his life in that detached way he now thought about most things since he had left his island home for a life he neither asked for nor wanted but was bound to all the same.

Histories were filled with his kind. A prisoner of the promise they had extracted from him, he would execute his duty to the best of his abilities. And if he died in the process, so be it. Maybe in death, he would find the sanctuary and the peace he was denied in life.

And maybe he would be with his wife again.

He covered his white body with a multitude of branches and started down the tree. Halfway down, he sliced his palm on a jagged branch, the cut deep and ragged, the pain acute. The wound bled a blue, pudding-like substance that didn't drip but clung to his hand, even when he turned his palm to the ground.

Never having been a spirit manifest in physical form before, it was difficult to know what to expect. He wiped his palm on a nearby branch, took note of the lesson, and wondered about the lessons yet to come.

Beyond the circle of trees, a small bump plowed through the forest's undergrowth, kicking up sticks and leaves in its wake.

The rock. It could only be.

Rocks were notoriously willful and immature, and this one seemed no exception. Aren could not imagine what had possessed the people who rescued him to pair him with such an opinionated and obstinate little creature.

Frustrated because he would never know the answer, he gathered his blue hair into a knot at the base of his skull, dropped from the tree, and reluctantly followed.